So...RWBY is my guilty pleasure, and I noticed that there was a disturbing lack of OC RWBY stories here on . I mean, come on people, Rooster Teeth gave us the best set up for mary sues, blatant self inserts, and well written character drama since Harry Potter! How could you just ignore that? Anyways, this is a story idea that's been rattling around in my head for a while now so I thought I would throw it to the hordes of grimm known as the internet and see how you guys liked it. So enjoy.
P.S. I've done my best to avoid mary sues and self inserts, but reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated.
P.P.S. I don't own RWBY, so please don't sue. I have nothing worth taking anyways.
The young man sat on the front steps of his apartment building, eagerly awaiting a letter. As he reclined against the cracked, dirty concrete he tried to convince himself that he wasn't anxious. Seriously, he told himself, it's not that big of a deal. Just a stupid letter. At the sound of passing car he looked up, hoping against hope the postman had come early. The postman hadn't. He sighed, looking back down at his heavily tattooed arms. A couple of girls, perhaps a year or two younger than he was, walked by and stared admiringly at him as they walk by. He was used to it. Like many young men, he took great pride in his physical appearance. Standing at six feet four inches, and carrying almost two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle he towered over most people. That's why he always wore tank tops. Well, that and he found them to be incredibly comfortable. Unlike his old crew, the young man could factor odds, and up until three days ago he hadn't had a chance in hell of living past thirty. So he had called to accept the offer Professor Ozpin had made him all those months ago. Now he was simply hoping the eccentric white haired man hadn't reconsidered.
Having nothing better to do he thought back on the events of three days ago. He thought back to the events that had put him on his current path.
It had started simply enough. A couple of Jr.'s goons had shot up Dan, Mike, and Raf. That overconfident asshole of a club owner was making a play for their turf down on the lower east end docks. That was seven days ago. Three days ago they had retaliated. It wasn't supposed to have been anything big, just a quick hit on a couple of Jr.'s guys. Show Jr. that they couldn't be pushed around. So they had grabbed their weapons of choice, his being a massive two handed ax that could transform into a shotgun. He and his buddies had jumped in their cars and gone hunting. They had eventually made their way to one of Jr.'s more low-key distribution joints. It was a small apartment with five or six guys in it. They had kicked down the door and opened up, shooting anything that moved. Of course, in a shitty apartment building with thin walls the high velocity rounds they used to punch through auras also tended to blow straight through the walls as well. He hadn't thought about it at the time, at least not until Jr.'s hired muscle in the adjoining apartment decided to try and shoot them through the walls. From there the evening degenerated into a running gunfight across five blocks that had left twenty people dead or injured. As he had stood in the aftermath, listening to the whimpers and screams of the wounded, he had hung his head.
The young man shook off the unpleasant memory as he heard yet another vehicle approaching. His heart skipped a beat. Oh shit it's the postman! He did his best to appear nonchalant as the tired old lady in her faded blue uniform walked past him up the steps and disappeared into the building's lobby. He forced himself to wait for the old lady to start walking back to her truck before he headed inside to check the mail. There were several letters inside his apartment's mailbox, but only one had beacon's insignia on it. Ignoring the others, he stuffed the envelope from Beacon into his pocket and ducked out into the narrow alley between his apartment building and the one next door. Taking a quick glance around to make sure that no-one was around, he slit the envelope open with fingernail. He was mildly annoyed to notice that his hands were shaking.
Dear Roberto Toque... the letter began. Roberto skimmed it until he found the sentence he was looking for. It read, "you have hereby been accepted to Beacon Academy."
"Yes!" He yelled out, pumping his fist wildly. Then he heard footsteps coming down the sidewalk. Whoever it was paused outside the alley entrance.
"Shit" he muttered.
"Hey Roberto, my man! Whatcha lookin' at?" A couple of the older guys led by a man named Jaxon swaggered into Roberto's field of view. He surreptitiously stuffed the letter into his waistband and pulled out his crappy third hand scroll.
"Ahh, y'know how it is. The ladies love me." He responded, waving his free hand around in an attempt to draw their eyes away from the letter's hiding spot.
"Nice, nice" Jax nodded sagely, "I know what you mean. My girl was all over me after our badassery a couple days ago." At this Jaxon's buddies started laughing and high-fiving each other. Roberto offered a weak grin, images of innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire flashing through his mind.
"What's the matter Rob? Not happy about getting' some payback?"
"Nah, I'm ecstatic man, I just miss Raf, y'know"
"Yeah man, I miss him too," Jaxon agreed, his tone not matching his words. "Hey, what's this?" Jaxon reached down and snatched the letter from Beacon.
"Just a letter." Roberto tried to play it off, knowing what was coming.
"Yeah, a letter that says you're planning on ditching us to play hero." Jaxon snarled. "You know it doesn't work like this Robbie, you aren't allowed to leave." He leaned forward as his friends started to form into a semicircle, trapping Roberto in the narrow confines of the alley. Roberto waited for Jaxon to throw the inevitable punch. He didn't disapoint.
"Maybe this will teach you an important lesson in group loyalty." Jaxon snarled as he swung a vicious right hook at Roberto's head. Roberto simply activated his aura and pushed himself upwards, headbutting Jackson in the face and breaking his nose in the process. As Jaxon staggered back one of his friends stepped forward to fill his place. Roberto swiftly reached over his shoulder and drew out his ax, bringing one edge to rest on the man's collarbone.
"You guys really don't wanna do this." He warned. "Just leave me be." They backed off slowly, shooting him murderous looks.
"Well, that could have gone better."
The wolf faunus sprinted across the grass, a huge grin plastered across her face. Her long shaggy gray hair and tail billowed out behind her, contrasting nicely with her well tanned skin and brilliant green vest. The sunlight glinted off her metal shoulder pads as she turned her head back to the four humans chasing her.
"Hey dumb-asses, if you're so superior how come you can't even outrun a seventeen year old girl?" The leader's face, already flushed from the exertion of running, somehow got redder.
"Kill you...stupid...faunus...bitch" he managed to gasp. She just grinned.
"If you can still talk then you can run faster" she called back, picking up her pace ever so slightly. They brought this on themselves, she thought. When the four humans had surrounded her a few minutes ago they had been slightly drunk, full of the overconfidence that alcohol brings. The leader, a broad slightly pudgy man, had pushed back into the brick wall of the store she had just exited. She had been a little surprised by this. Not that racist assholes who liked to pick fights were anything new to her, but usually humans were a bit more selective in where they chose to vent their prejudices. Certainly she had never been accosted outside a fairly popular store in broad daylight. The other three hemmed her in, calling her names, boosting each others confidence. Standard pack mentality, she had noted. This was something she understood very, very well. So she had punched their pudgy alcoholic leader in the groin hard enough to make double over, puking his booze onto the ground. The others had paused, stunned by this development. Seizing her opportunity, she had nimbly skipped past the man, pausing to pull on her recently purchased gauntlets while she waited for her four would-be tormentors to recover. Seeing that they had pulled the leader back to his feet she had taken off at a slow jog, hoping they would be angry enough to follow. They had been, so she had...wham!
Her musings were interrupted as she slammed head first into an old man wearing a spiffy dark green jacket, and an ascot. The two of them tumbled to the ground amidst the remains of the man's mug of coffee.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry mister. I swear I didn't even see you. Here, let me help you up." She bent down to assist the old...no, not old, the man just had slate gray hair.
"Don't worry dear" he replied calmly, "I am unharmed." He brushed himself off and retrieved his mug, frowning at its spilled contents.
"Seriously, I'm so sorry..." she was still apologizing profusely as the four humans finally caught up. Sweaty and out of breath, they looked ready to kill her.
"We're gonna kill you bitch!"
"Y'know, incessant redundancy isn't exactly terrifying. You said that after I pulped your nut sack remember?" She remarked.
"What seems to be the problem here?" The gray haired man asked, stepping up beside the female faunus.
"Piss off man, you don't want none of this" a marginally attractive man on the right snarled.
"And what might this be exactly?"
"You stupid or..."
"Professor Ozpin, what do you think you're doing?" An intensely annoyed female barked out as she approached. The six of them turned to look at the platinum blonde. Ozpin? Why does that name sound familiar? The girl idly wondered.
"Ah, hello Professor Goodwitch, I was just mediating a minor dispute." Glynda Goodwitch raised her eyebrow, obviously not believing a single word of it.
"Waaiiiit, I just ran over the headmaster of Beacon!?" The young faunus was mortified. Goodwitch gave Ozpin a questioning look. He shrugged in response. After briefly considering this new development, the four drunk men that had instigated the entire situation chose to flee.
"Really?" Goodwitch prompted. Ozpin shrugged again.
"I was simply walking along enjoying my coffee when I happened upon this young lady...pardon me, but I didn't catch your name."
"Lillian Volk, pleased to meet you." She replied happily, sticking out her hand. Ozpin reached out and shook it, then paused and examined her armored hand.
"Hmm, I see you are wearing clawed gauntlets with... dust gems set into them?"
"Yeah, my old pair were kinda worn down and crappy so I decided I should get a new pair, then those guys yelled at me so..."
"That's a very rare fighting style." Goodwitch interrupted.
"Yeah, well, I figured that it would make sense 'cause I'm a wolf faunus so I should have claws, well actually I guess I should actually have, like, a biting weapon but there's no way I'm going to bite a grimm so this was as close as I could get...I'm sorry I'm rambling I do that when I'm nervous." Lillian chattered rapidly. Both Ozpin and Goodwitch blinked at the sudden torrent of words.
"Well" Ozpin said, "I, for one, would love to see what you can accomplish. Would you like to attend Beacon?" Lillian's eyes lit up, which was the only response he needed.
"Miss Rhewliff, your father would like to see you in his study." The girl sighed as the butler, Seamus, knocked on her bedroom door. She was tall and thin, with long pale blue hair and matching eyes as a result of a dust accident when she was younger. She stood up and adjusted her slacks minutely before opening the door to her room. After all, it wouldn't do to look anything less than perfect at all times, or so her mother claimed. As she entered her father's study he looked up from a piece of paper he was reading.
"Father" she said by way of greeting.
"Priscilla" he answered, "I just received an interesting letter from Beacon Academy. It seems you still intend to become a huntress." Persephone sat down in one of the chairs facing the large hard-wood desk.
"As you know, I've always felt that becoming a huntress is one of the highest positions to which I can aspire."
"And you know that I want you take over my company someday" he father began.
"Yes, but becoming a huntress will provide me with valuable real world experience with all different types of weapons that I can put to use in the corporate sector, and the position is flexible enough to allow me to come back home at any time without too much fuss." Priscilla pointed out, having prepared this argument since she had sent her application letter to Beacon. Fortunately, her father seemed to accept her reasoning.
"Very well" He said brusquely, "but I expect you to be careful. I'd hate to see you waste yourself on fighting creatures of grimm and be unable to lead when you get back." And with that short exchange, she was going to Beacon.
Priscilla sat on her bed humming to herself, a small smile playing across her delicate features as she cleaned her weapon for the seventh time. Her weapon was a combination of bi-dent and sniper rifle. The weapon itself was fairly simplistic, with two blades curving out and around the muzzle brake of the sniper rifle that made up the weapons shaft. In bi-dent mode the scope, handle, and stock of the rifle folded up into the shaft to allow unimpeded hand positioning. Unfortunately the magazine of the sniper rifle always stuck out, but there was simply no way around that. Persephone reassembled her weapon and switched it between rifle and bi-dent mode a few times to ensure all the parts were seated correctly. As she placed it back in its carrying sling and hung it on the wall, she heard another knock at her door.
"Yes Seamus, what does my father want this time?"
"Actually miss, it's your mother. She would like to speak with you in the garden." The butler replied evenly. Priscilla slumped slightly. While her father could be mollified with logical reasoning, her mother was another case entirely.
As she walked out onto the deck through the double doors, Priscilla paused to admire the garden her mother so diligently maintained. The backyard of their small mansion was lovingly maintained by her mother, and less lovingly by the gardeners that were hired to take care of the trees and lawn every week. She walked over to where her mother was carefully pruning one of the rhododendrons that covered the fence separating the pool from the backyard proper.
"You asked to see me?"
"Yes" her mother answered between snips, "What's this nonsense about you becoming a huntress?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. I plan on attending Beacon Academy and becoming a huntress."
"And why would you do that when there are plenty of more desperate people to do it for you?"
"Maybe because I want to help people?"
"That's why we sponsor charities dear." her mother replied condescendingly.
"Mother, listen, I'm going to Beacon to become a huntress. Father has already given his permission." Priscilla was starting to get annoyed.
"I hear they even allow faunus in." Her mother continued. "I mean, what would you do if you ended up on a team with one of them? You might get fleas or something."
"Yes, or possibly rabies. I expect I might even have to take him or her to the vet to get their shots." Priscilla responded with enough sarcasm to wilt her mother's precious flowers.
"You laugh now, but I'm simply looking out for your safety." Her mother replied, starting to get annoyed herself.
"Well you're being incredibly patronizing about it. I'm going to Beacon. End of story." And with that, Priscilla turned and walked back into the mansion.
The young man calmly pulled the trigger as the final beowolf leaped at his face. The grimm's head exploded, it's corpse liberally leaking blood as it hit the warehouse floor. He turned and surveyed the carnage spread across the warehouse that he had been calling his home. Sending grimm to kill me. Sloppy. Insulting he thought to himself. Grabbing his dark leather jacket, he slipped out through a sewer grate he had loosened weeks before. As he climbed out of a man hole a couple of blocks away he heard the sound of sirens. He turned around, and was mildly surprised to see that the warehouse was on fire. The clean up crew must have been in a hurry. He started walking away from the conflagration, the neon signs of the seedy bars throwing his features into sharp relief. He was of average height and lean, with short black hair. His face was characterized by high, prominent cheekbones and and a long faded scar that started above his right eye and cut down across the bridge of his nose, ending at his lower left jaw. The pistol sitting in a holster on his thigh was a heavily modified M45A1, with a muzzle brake, extended mags, and an ingenious little device on the front rail that used dust to modify the properties of the pistol's bullets. Going to have to find new safe house. Should probably just leave city the young man thought to himself. At the sound of approaching sirens he looked up, only to find both sides of the street blocked off by police cars. He was thoroughly annoyed by this development.
"Excuse me!" A young lieutenant called out. The young man hunched down slightly and kept walking, looking for an alley or unlocked doorway he could duck into.
"Hey! You with the leather jacket! Stop!" The lieutenant continued to call out. Seeing no immediate escape route, the young man complied. Several police officers approached him, their hands hovering near their sidearms. He carefully kept his hands in sight. They probably wouldn't shoot him, but there was no reason to make them jumpy.
"Yes officer?" He prompted.
"Eyewitnesses claim that you were followed into the warehouse that is currently on fire a few blocks away by a pack of beowolves."
"Because drunks are so reliable." He retorted.
"Never the less, we need to take you in for questioning." The lieutenant insisted. The young man remained silent. The lieutenant cleared his throat nervously.
"So...if you would please follow me..." he paused as another officer jogged up to him and whispered something in his ear.
"They found what?" He asked, shocked. The messenger repeated his statement.
"But...a whole pack? That means..."
"That we have a very promising hunter candidate on our hands." A new voice finished the stuttering lieutenant's sentence for him. The police officers around him all jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected input, but the young man remained motionless, having heard the subtle clack of the woman's heels against the pavement.
"My name is Glynda Goodwitch, what's yours?" The imperious blonde woman addressed him. The young man said nothing, opting to raise a questioning eyebrow instead.
"The professor asked you your name," the lieutenant said gruffly.
"Don't have one," the young man ground out.
"Don't be ridiculous, everybody has a name son" the lieutenant replied. The young man paused, seemingly pondering the officer's words.
"Scelerat Program Subject M-013" he offered. Everybody looked at him with varying amounts of disbelief written across their faces.
"Riiiiiight" the lieutenant said slowly, clearly not believing a word of what he had just heard. The young man simply looked at him like he was a complete idiot.
"Interesting." was Professor Goodwitch's comment.
"Young man," she continued, "would you like to accompany me back to Beacon Academy?"
"Hey!" The lieutenant began to object.
"Officer, from what evidence you have been able to gather, this young man just killed an entire pack of beowolves in roughly the same amount of time most people take to tie their shoes. I would like to at least give him the chance to become a hunter." Goodwitch cut him off. The lieutenant just sighed and nodded, since he clearly wasn't going to win this argument. The young man looked at Glynda Goodwitch and said,
"Yes."